Sense and Sensibility

Key

FID

indirect

intro to FID or indirect

Chapter 17

Mrs. Dashwood was surprised
only for a moment at seeing him; for his coming to Barton was, in her
opinion, of all things the most natural. Her joy and expression of regard
long outlived her wonder. He received the kindest welcome from her; and
shyness, coldness, reserve could not stand against such a reception. They
had begun to fail him before he entered the house, and they were quite
overcome by the captivating manners of Mrs. Dashwood. Indeed a man could not
very well be in love with either of her daughters, without extending the
passion to her; and Elinor had the satisfaction of seeing him soon become
more like himself. His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all, and
his interest in their welfare again became perceptible. He was not in
spirits, however; he praised their house, admired its prospect, was
attentive, and kind; but still he was not in spirits. The whole family
perceived it, and Mrs. Dashwood, attributing it to some want of liberality
in his mother, sat down to table indignant against all selfish
parents.

"What are Mrs. Ferrars's
views for you at present, Edward?" said she, when dinner
was over and they had drawn round the fire;"are you still to be a
great orator in spite of yourself?"

"No. I hope my mother is now
convinced that I have no more talents than inclination for a public
life!"

"But how is your fame to be
established? for famous you must be to satisfy all your family; and with no
inclination for expense, no affection for strangers, no profession, and no
assurance, you may find it a difficult matter."

"I shall not attempt it. I
have no wish to be distinguished; and have every reason to hope I never
shall. Thank Heaven! I cannot be forced into genius and eloquence."

"You have no ambition, I
well know. Your wishes are all moderate."

"As moderate as those of the
rest of the world, I believe. I wish as well as every body else to be
perfectly happy; but, like every body else it must be in my own way.
Greatness will not make me so."

"Strange that it would!" cried Marianne."What have wealth or
grandeur to do with happiness?"

"Grandeur has but
little," said Elinor, "but wealth has much to
do with it."

"Elinor, for shame!" said Marianne, "money can only give
happiness where there is nothing else to give it. Beyond a competence,
it can afford no real satisfaction, as far as mere self is
concerned."

"Perhaps," said Elinor,
smiling, "we may come to the same
point. YOUR competence and MY wealth are very much alike, I dare say;
and without them, as the world goes now, we shall both agree that every
kind of external comfort must be wanting. Your ideas are only more noble
than mine. Come, what is your competence?"

"About eighteen hundred or
two thousand a year; not more than THAT."

Elinor laughed."TWO thousand a year! ONE is
my wealth! I guessed how it would end."

"And yet two thousand
a-year is a very moderate income," said Marianne. "A family cannot well be
maintained on a smaller. I am sure I am not extravagant in my demands. A
proper establishment of servants, a carriage, perhaps two, and hunters,
cannot be supported on less."

Elinor smiled again, to hear
her sister describing so accurately their future expenses at Combe
Magna.

"Hunters!" repeated Edward
—"but why must
you have hunters? Every body does not hunt."

Marianne coloured as she
replied,"But most people do."

"I wish," said Margaret, striking
out a novel thought,"that somebody would
give us all a large fortune apiece!"

"Oh that they would!" cried Marianne, her eyes
sparkling with animation, and her cheeks glowing with the delight of such
imaginary happiness.

"We are all unanimous in
that wish, I suppose," said Elinor,"in spite of the
insufficiency of wealth."

"Oh dear!" cried Margaret,"how happy I should be!
I wonder what I should do with it!"

Marianne looked as if she
had no doubt on that point.

"I should be puzzled to
spend so large a fortune myself," said Mrs. Dashwood, "if my children were all
to be rich my help."

"What magnificent orders
would travel from this family to London," said Edward, "in such an event! What a
happy day for booksellers, music-sellers, and print-shops! You, Miss
Dashwood, would give a general commission for every new print of merit
to be sent you — and as for Marianne, I know her greatness of
soul, there would not be music enough in London to content her. And
books! — Thomson, Cowper, Scott — she would buy them all
over and over again: she would buy up every copy, I believe, to prevent
their falling into unworthy hands; and she would have every book that
tells her how to admire an old twisted tree. Should not you, Marianne?
Forgive me, if I am very saucy. But I was willing to shew you that I had
not forgot our old disputes."

"I love to be reminded of
the past, Edward — whether it be melancholy or gay, I love to recall
it — and you will never offend me by talking of former times. You are
very right in supposing how my money would be spent — some of it, at
least — my loose cash would certainly be employed in improving my
collection of music and books."

"And the bulk of your fortune
would be laid out in annuities on the authors or their heirs."

"No, Edward, I should have
something else to do with it."

"Perhaps, then, you would
bestow it as a reward on that person who wrote the ablest defence of your
favourite maxim,thatno one can ever be
in love more than once in their life —your opinion on that point is
unchanged, I presume?"

"Undoubtedly. At my time of
life opinions are tolerably fixed. It is not likely that I should now see or
hear any thing to change them."

"Marianne is as steadfast
as ever, you see," said Elinor, "she is not at all
altered."

"She is only grown a little
more grave than she was."

"Nay, Edward," said Marianne, "you need not reproach
me. You are not very gay yourself."

"Why should you think
so!" replied he, with a
sigh. "But gaiety never was a
part of MY character."

"Nor do I think it a part
of Marianne's,"said Elinor; "I should hardly call her
a lively girl — she is very earnest, very eager in all she does
— sometimes talks a great deal and always with animation —
but she is not often really merry."

"I believe you are
right," he replied, "and yet I have always
set her down as a lively girl."

"I have frequently
detected myself in such kind of mistakes," said Elinor, "in a total
misapprehension of character in some point or other: fancying people so
much more gay or grave, or ingenious or stupid than they really are, and
I can hardly tell why or in what the deception originated. Sometimes one
is guided by what they say of themselves, and very frequently by what
other people say of them, without giving oneself time to deliberate and
judge."

"But I thought it was
right, Elinor," said Marianne, "to be guided wholly by
the opinion of other people. I thought our judgments were given us
merely to be subservient to those of neighbours. This has always been
your doctrine, I am sure."

"No, Marianne, never. My
doctrine has never aimed at the subjection of the understanding. All I have
ever attempted to influence has been the behaviour. You must not confound my
meaning. I am guilty, I confess, of having often wished you to treat our
acquaintance in general with greater attention; but when have I advised you
to adopt their sentiments or to conform to their judgment in serious
matters?"

"You have not been able
to bring your sister over to your plan of general civility," said Edward to
Elinor,"Do you gain no
ground?"

"My judgment," he returned,"is all on your side of
the question; but I am afraid my practice is much more on your sister's.
I never wish to offend, but I am so foolishly shy, that I often seem
negligent, when I am only kept back by my natural awkwardness. I have
frequently thought that I must have been intended by nature to be fond
of low company, I am so little at my ease among strangers of
gentility!"

"Marianne has not shyness to
excuse any inattention of hers," said Elinor.

"She knows her own worth
too well for false shame," replied Edward."Shyness is only the
effect of a sense of inferiority in some way or other. If I could
persuade myself that my manners were perfectly easy and graceful, I
should not be shy."

"But you would still be
reserved," said Marianne,"and that is
worse."

Edward started
—"Reserved! Am I reserved,
Marianne?"

"Yes, very."

"I do not understand
you," replied he,
colouring. "Reserved! — how,
in what manner? What am I to tell you? What can you suppose?"

Elinor looked surprised at
his emotion; but trying to laugh off the subject, she said to him, "Do not you know my sister
well enough to understand what she means? Do not you know she calls every
one reserved who does not talk as fast, and admire what she admires as
rapturously as herself?"

Edward made no answer. His
gravity and thoughtfulness returned on him in their fullest extent —
and he sat for some time silent and dull.